


Picnic

by Anonymous



Series: Wee Omens [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Deliberate Wetting, Dry Humping, Ficlet, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Omorashi, Sub!Crowley - Freeform, Wetting, mild spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 13:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Following their conversation about deliberate wetting, Crowley decides to indulge himself to see what Aziraphale will do.





	Picnic

They'd had a lovely long day in the warm sunshine, woollen picnic rug laid out on the grass in a secluded spot under some trees, with a pretty view of the hill. The sun was starting to sink down, and the wine was starting to run out, but it was still a balmy evening.

Aziraphale sighed happily, running his fingers through his demon's hair, and deciding to read just one more chapter of his book.

Crowley on the other hand was smirking to himself. He was lying on his belly, blissfully relaxed, and considering doing something exciting. He lifted his eyes to Aziraphale who was concentrating on the novel, then looked back at the last of the orangey sunset. He was half hard in his pants, dimly aroused, feeling a luxurious pressure build that he desperately wanted to illicitly disperse.

So he started to pee in his pants. It was so secretive at first. He held his breath as the flow began with a burst, flooding his underwear. Aziraphale was still petting him as he was doing it. He glanced at the angel who appeared none the wiser. It made him relax even further.

It was a hot gush. It spread beneath him gloriously, tingling heat soaking into the blanket, over his crotch, his thighs and his tummy. He was lying in a growing warm puddle. He sighed quietly, still going strong, and wondered how long it would be before his angel, who still had his fingers in the red hair, noticed. He decided to sigh a little louder as he fully emptied his bladder. His puddle had soused the wool beneath him, and the grass beneath that, and started to swell out beyond the demon's slender frame, before soaking in and darkening Aziraphale's blanket. 

He was for it now. He'd finished wetting himself and was now lying in a significant wet spot that he couldn't very well claim to be spilt lemonade. He glanced back up at the angel who was frowning at the stain.

'Crowley,' said Aziraphale darkly. 'Did you just do what I think you just did?'

'Mmmm,' sighed Crowley, starting to roll his hips into the wet woollen picnic rug. He was instantly hard as a rock and the friction was mind blowing. He was already too far gone.

Aziraphale continued to stroke Crowley's hair. 'Crowley. Am I going to be cross?'

The demon started to thrust rhythmically. It felt too good. It was taking over. 'Couldn't help it,' he breathed, humping the blanket. 'Can't help it.' He looked up at Aziraphale.

The angel's lips were parted, eyes cloudy, as he watched. 

'Can't stop,' said Crowley rutting frantically, fists balling around the wool for purchase. He arched and came with a loud gasp, writhing on the soaked blanket, relishing each hot, creamy spurt in his cooling underwear. 

He gradually regained his senses as his breathing returned to normal. He smiled to himself. That was exactly the disgraceful sort of thing a demon should be doing. He dared to look at Aziraphale who had put his book away, and was looking rather stern.

'Clean that up please,' said the angel. 

Crowley pouted and rolled over. He grimaced. It was a bit bad. His front was sodden. He quickly snapped his fingers and the blanket puffed up nice and dry, and his clothing was clean again. 

'All better,' he announced. 'You'd never know.' He grinned at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale did not grin back, but there was a light in his eyes that reassured the guilty Crowley. 'But I _do_ know,' said Aziraphale ominously. He patted his lap. 'Come here, my dear.'

Crowley crawled over to the angel's lap, slinking into position and resting over his thighs. Perhaps the angel was finally going to follow through with his spanking threats.

Aziraphale landed a dozen light swats on the seat of Crowley's jeans, and scolded him for being a lazy bones and a mucky pup. It barely stung, but left an ache. Crowley sighed softly, finding the dull throb in his bottom strangely comforting. He curled up and fell asleep right where he was in the angel's lap. 

And Aziraphale, still stroking his demon's hair, found he didn’t mind one little bit. 


End file.
